Dancing Flames
by bookworm1771
Summary: Basically a creative response  Holmes' thoughts  to the scene in the movie where Watson sets off the explosion. Holmes is a bit OOC but the point in this was to be descriptive. Hope you guys like it!


_**Hi guys, this is a one shot that I had to do for school. Basically for my English class I had to do a creative response to a scene from a movie, and being the Sherlock Holmes addict that I am, I did the explosion scene from Guy Richie's Sherlock Holmes. Now yes, I know, Holmes is quite OOC, but the point was to be descriptive. I just thought I'd put it on here to see what people thought! :)**_

_**I hope you enjoy it!**_

_**Love,**_

_**Bookworm**_

_**P.S Reviews are gold dust!**_

**RESPONSE TO THE EXPLOSION SCENE IN GUY RICHIE'S SHERLOCK HOLMES**

One individual word of distress rings out across the star-spangled sky. One word. One name. Holmes.

How one syllable could hold that much dread, suspense and warning in that moment of time halted me as I raced in from the other room. The desperate cry reverberates around the grand pavilion, and there's a brief silence before the tempest. The calm before the storm. As he stands there with his arm extended, attempting to stop me from causing any more catastrophes, my mind goes blank. So much passes in so brief of a time; the deafening silence is broken by my heavy breaths of alarm as I look on in grievous horror as my associate, business partner, comrade and best friend stands still with a n expression of foreboding regret contorting his face. I dare not to blink as an earsplitting roar fills the ancient stone pavilion. A millisecond later, monstrous flames engulf him like a blazing lion devouring his prey, and I can only stare in consuming dread as Watson is violently blown sideways on top of an aggregation of tumultuous barrels which -in turn- explode.

The thick acrid scent of swirling smoke fills my nose as heat hits me, warming my skin with harsh malice, causing my innards to boil and writhe with guilt. Guilt and rage. Guilt, because no matter how much I try, at the end I have to face the horrid, depressing truth that despite what I say and what I do, not every life, not every golden soul can be saved from the clutches of death.

Rage, because even though I know that everything must one day come to an end, and all lives shall lose their luster and gradually fade and leave nothing but a memory, I still cannot in my esteemed friends early demise. He did nothing to deserve this; life is prejudiced and iniquitous. This then leads me to ask a question that many have asked, and only a few have pondered:

_Is anything about death fair?_

Wrenching anguish pulls at my hear strings and the torturesome truth of what is happening fills my conscious, and I begin to feel responsible for the unnecessary death of my friend. The feel of loss churns my stomach and the grief tastes acidic and sour in my mouth, like a rotten piece of fruit slowly trickling down my throat and twisting my gut into unsolvable knots.

As the manic explosion rages on, shards of deadly sharp woods and dazzling sparks brutally attack my face like angry wasps thirsty for blood. Diminutive fireworks blaze in my pain-filled face, singeing my skin and hair. The first explosion triggers a domino effect, igniting the surrounding wooden barrels of gun powder, one after the other. The blast forces me to uncontrollably spin my body around and painfully fall to my knees. The debris violently crashed down upon me, throwing me face down as I futilely try to cover my head with my arms as some sort of protection from the boiling storm.

I hastily scramble to my feet, seize a nearby crate and attempt to cover myself with it like a flaming makeshift shield. As I stumble away, the monstrous flames chase me and I feel the impact of of two more blasts before I finally drop to the ground and roll to safety behind a cool stone pillar.

Losing no time, I heave a crouching Irene to her unsteady feet, and we make our gradual way to Watson. Hope that Watson may still be alive ignites a firing determination inside of me, and I silently will Irene and myself to drive on towards the heap of rubble that Watson lies under

However, as soon as we take out first few exhausted steps towards him, the raging storm of fire reaches its finale and blasts us both up and off our feet. I experience a fleeting feeling of flying, and then I'm dumped unceremoniously onto the ash covered ground.

The overpowering heart is too much to bear as I smack my head on the concrete, and I slip into a blissful dark abyss.


End file.
